Sunday, March 17, 2024

Mail...

 A few weeks ago, I received a special envelope in my mailbox. It was from my older cousin Karen, who lives in Tasmania, Australia. She has been sorting through old correspondence and family photos and sending items off to various relatives who she thought might find them interesting. My envelope had a few photos and many letters from my father to his brother (her father) during World War II. 

It made my heart ache a little to see his familiar penmanship, and it was fascinating to read his words to his older brother. It gave me a pang to see that the two were obviously once very close. In my lifetime, they were little more than cordial neighbors. 

One envelope held a special delight. It was a tiny piece of stationary and a letter written from my father and mother to my uncle. They were on their honeymoon at Easter Slopes Inn in North Conway, New Hampshire. My uncle was somewhere in the Pacific. The date was December 28, 1945. In my father's thin, sloping hand, it says, "Dear Pete,  This is all the paper I can find, but I want to send a line or two and say hello. Dot and I were married on the 26th and are here for a week. It is wonderful up here; so far, married life is wonderful, and I am sure it will continue to be so. I've got me a wonderful wife. Sorry for such a lack of writing on my part, but I have been so busy, and after writing so much for four years, it felt good not to for a while. Will do better from now on 'tho. Our car runs well but uses oil to beat hell. I get to 50 miles. It may do better after it has run for a while. Hope so. Well, Pete, we wish you had been here to be the best man, but we couldn't wait. All for now. Dot wants to say hello. Hope to see you soon. Dave." 

Next comes my mothers addition. Her penmanship is round and loopy and pulls my heartstrings. "Dear Peter, We waited so long we decided not to wait any longer- much to everyone's surprise (I don't think.) Being married is certainly wonderful but it makes me feel so old and respectable. Seriously tho', I'm so happy I'm walking on air. It's heavenly up here and a perfect place for a honeymoon. We will hate to leave I know. I hope you can come home soon, Pete. We all miss you, Love, Dorothy."

Here is evidence of the beginning of my history, my newlywed parents on their honeymoon, "walking on air." They stayed married until death did them part, my father never failing to kiss my mother on his way out the door to work in the morning. I grew up feeling safe and secure in their union, a blessing I don't take for granted. The inn where they celebrated their life together is still there. You can see it here: https://easternslopeinn.com/  . Chris and I plan to spend a weekend there soon to walk the grounds my parents walked and acknowledge this moment in my family history.  

My kind cousin sent me a chubby envelope full of yesteryear. I am so grateful. 



Sunday, March 10, 2024

Pysanky eggs...

 Our sweet friends Kathy and Scott invited us again to make pysanky eggs. They are an artistic group that create the most beautiful designs. My creative leanings don't lend themselves to this direction, but oh! It's such fun to try. 

A special tool applies melted beeswax to the eggs, creating a pattern the dye will not cover. Multiple layers of designs and dyes can be used. The dyes are the most beautiful colors and the people in the group with more talent than I have created the loveliest, most intricate patterns. 


My friend tells us that some of the eggs in this basket are fifty years old. She can lift each egg and tell who created it. The basket is full of beauty, both physically and in lovely memories. 




It was cold and raining hard today with a wild wind. The roads were awash with water in spots, and little brooks flowed along the hillsides where brooks are generally not seen. The trees bobbed and danced in the gusts. We braved the squall to get to the door when we arrived at our destination. It was a happy surprise to see snowdrops blooming by the entryway.

Inside, it was warm and welcoming. They have the coziest house. 


Everywhere one looks, there are books, beauty, art, and comfortable spots that invite a person to curl up and soak up the snugness. Maple sap steamed in huge pots on top of a wood stove boasting dancing flames. A buffet of delicious food awaited, warm brie and crackers, quiche, deviled eggs, raspberry scones, home baked Sally Lunn buns with a drizzle of maple syrup made this season from trees they tapped themselves. Everything was a feast for the senses. 

As the storm raged, we gathered around a sturdy table lit by an abundance of candles. We nibbled, chatted, and created. My new granddaughter was passed from person to person, causing smiles all around. 

We came home with our delicate egg creations, happy hearts, and sweet new memories. 


Saturday, March 9, 2024

March...

 A lot of people in New England dislike March. It can be wet, cold, and muddy. We are ready for spring, and March seems to stretch on endlessly, a long, chilly pause between winter and spring. As for me, March is a happy month. It's the month it all began for me because it is when I was born. It is the month my beloved pledged to be mine forever, and five years later, the month our precious daughter arrived. 

                                                

The entire long day was stretched out before me when I woke up this morning. It was overcast but in the 30s, so it was decent weather for working outside. I put on boots and work gloves and spent the entire day outdoors puttering. I cleaned the small chicken coop, put down fresh shavings, and cleaned food and water bowls. It looked so nice when I was finished. Here are before-and-after pictures. 


Next, I picked up some windblown trash from the yard. On a whim, I lit a fire in the fire ring. I piled on branches from a bucket full of winter evergreen boughs, and the air was soon perfumed with spicy smoke. Scraps of cardboard got tossed on, too. I moved to the big coop and cleaned it out. Several hens were waiting to use the nest boxes to lay eggs, and they complained to me loudly. They stomped in and out of the coop, clucking fussily and giving me the stink eye. I tried to work fast. They filed in and presented me with a half dozen eggs as soon as I was done. 

I cleaned the yard more and sat at our picnic table, looking at the fire and planning what I'd like to accomplish in the gardens this year. I am excited because I can work without pain now that I have my excellent new knee, and the possibilities are exciting. Canada Geese winged overhead, calling their haunting song, urging me to get moving, too. 



Finally, I tackled the goat cozy. For the last two months, I have let hay pile up to create a deep layer of bedding to help the goats stay warm on cold nights. This worked well; the top layer of hay was clean and dry, but we found that underneath was heavy and wet as we cleaned. Thankfully, Chris helped me do some of the heavy lifting. We forked up six or seven huge loads of dirty shavings and hay and hauled them outside. We swept the floor and put down clean, bright shavings. The goats ran in and out excitedly, investigating our work and snorting as they breathed in the crisp pine scent.

Afterward, Chris and I sat by the fire for a little while, enjoying a glass of wine. It was chilly but an excellent harbinger of warm days to come.  As dusk gathered, the chickens filed into their coops and hopped up on their roosts, muttering contentedly. The goats gathered around their hay feeder, and I put bright spring bandanas on them. After their meal, they snuggled in their clean shavings. Tomorrow, it is supposed to rain and storm all day. I will be happy knowing all the animals have tidy homes where they can weather the storm.

March may not be everyone's cup of tea, but it is a month I cherish. The days get longer, and the sun feels warmer. Migratory birds return and begin to scout for mates and nests and try out their voices for the upcoming spring chorus. It is time to clean up after the long winter, celebrate births, joyously observe our anniversary, and begin to plan for gardening and summer projects. 

Tuesday, February 13, 2024

Kindness all around...

 When my daughter was expecting her first child, there was a tsunami of gifts. They came from friends and family, from neighbors, and arrived in astonishing numbers from our customers. That baby was so well welcomed; it was humbling. 

The same has been true for the new wee one. For weeks before her birth, and now, five weeks after her arrival, sweet presents keep rolling in. We are awash in gratitude. 

Today, a familiar vehicle pulled up outside. It belonged to a favorite customer, and I was alarmed because his name was not on the calendar. I feared I had made a mistake and neglected to write down an appointment. He came to the door and smiled when he saw Rachel, who had popped in to visit. "I came to see you," he said. And handed her two beautiful wooden spoons. "I carved these for your little girls," he said. "From wood on our property." 



"I'll be making them bowls to go with them," he said. The wood is lovely and perfectly smooth. Rachel and I turned them over and over in our hands, admiring the grain and the finish and the marvelous creativity and care that went into each one. 

The daily news reports are bleak and make me worry for the world. But then there are tiny baby clothes in bright packages, dear books, warm cards, warmer blankets and quilts, festive hair bows. And spoons, hand carved with deep care. And kindness. 


Monday, February 12, 2024

Kids and sweetness...

 

There is something about goat kids. Most people find them undeniably attractive. Personally, I find them to be enchanting. This picture is of my goat, Plenty, when she was a kid. (Thanks to Rock Bottom Farm for letting me use their photo.) 

Right after Christmas, we took Plenty and Happy to the farm where we bought them so they could have romantic rendezvous with some attractive young bucks. Because. We want kids. We also want milk, which comes along with kids, but mostly? We want hopping, bopping, leaping, twisting, soft, sweet-smelling, and adorable baby goats. We want to watch them and cuddle them and laugh about them. They are joy on tiny hooves. 

Since it was very cold when we drove them to the farm, the most patient and generous son in love in the world let us borrow his Prius to transport them so they wouldn't get a chill in the back of the truck. The problem with putting goats in a car is that they are not housebroken. Or car broken. Let me be blunt. They poop. And pee. Though in this case, they only pooped, which is good because goats poop tidy little pellets that are pretty easy to clean up. Pee is never easy. 

The goats were perfectly cozy in the back of the car and rode like the ladies that they are, except for the aforementioned pooping. I regret I wasn't fast enough to catch a photo of a lady passenger of a car that drove past us as she hung out the window with her jaw dropped, looking at goats in the car. 

Once we arrived at the farm, we convinced the girls to walk up the driveway, past the barn, to a gate where we popped them through so they could join the herd. 


This picture is inside the barn. We actually put them into a big pasture. I just wanted you to understand that there are quite a few goats. This is just some of them. The day we dropped them off, the quite a few goats hung back, cautiously watching to see what we were about. The very large guard dog placed its vast body between us and his herd. The farmer opened the gate and popped Plenty through it. Instantly, one of the goats in the herd ran to her. "Oh," said the farmer. "That is  your goat's mother." The two goats had last seen each other over two years ago. She then hustled Happy through the gate. Again, one goat from the cautious herd broke rank and ran to see Happy. "Oh," said the farmer. "That is your goat's daughter." 

We were all rather touched by the sweetness of the goats recognizing their family member and quickly welcoming them in. The farmer reported that the mothers and daughters all hung out with one another, eating and resting side by side during their stay. 




We brought the girls home yesterday (again in the generously loaned car, so they got to stay toasty.) There was some head-butting and jostling once they arrived, but everyone has settled down. I'm glad the girls are back; I missed their whimsical little faces. 

Now, we will sit back and happily anticipate kids in June.  And more sweetness. We can't get enough of either.

Friday, February 9, 2024

Here's the scoop...

 A year or so ago my sweet husband shared a memory with me. It was about an object from his childhood. An ice cream scoop to be specific. He remembered his mother dishing up ice cream with it for him. He said it was flat, like a paddle, with a sturdy, unbendable handle. 

I called his sisters in Mississippi and asked them about it. They remembered it and described it a little more clearly to me, but they didn't know what had happened to it. 

I looked online and found one or two that I thought might be what he was remembering, but I wasn't sure, so I never ordered one. I thought about it from time to time, but we continued to scoop our ice cream with a dinner spoon. It was sad. 

The other day, a package arrived from my sister-in-law. A beautiful quilt she had lovingly sewn for the new baby. When I called to tell her it had been safely delivered, she said, "There is something in there for Chris. You will know it when you see it." I dug around in the box and gasped when I retrieved a bubble wrap encased something. I knew what it was instantly and shrieked a little. "We were cleaning out a drawer and found it." She told me. 

My husband called on his way home from work. "Need anything from town?" he asked. "Could you grab some ice cream?" 

After supper, we headed for the kitchen to dish up the ice cream. I told him I had a surprise and... 


handed him the scoop. His eyes opened wide. "It was JUST like THAT!" he said. I told him, "It was EXACTLY like that! Your sister sent it to you. This was your mother's." He was delighted. "If you found me one like this, I would have been so happy. But to have the actual one that was my mom's is so special. I'm going to be serving up ice cream for my grandbabies with this!"

We scooped up the ice cream, and it worked a treat. 


Sunday, February 4, 2024

Cozy days...

 Winter in Maine offers some weather that makes people who live in warmer climates wonder what we are thinking to live here. We all learn to appreciate cozy moments. Even the animals. 

The goat's uneaten breakfast made a snug spot in the sun for Click. He rolled and purred and enjoyed himself. Though there was a bitter cold wind, his fur was warm when I stopped to give him some love. 

The goats have a perfectly comfortable house that blocks the wind and boasts deep, dry bedding, but they enjoyed a nap on an island of hay surrounded by snow and ice. Their winter coats are amazingly thick, and they don't seem to mind the cold at all. 


We keep the wood stove fed with dry hardwood, and the little dogs take advantage of it. 


Chris brings me flowers every week in the winter. When the world outside is cold and white, it makes me happy to see something springy inside our snug house.

                                      

It is early February, and this years groundhog predicts an early spring. I have heard a few birds tentatively try out a springtime song. I rather enjoy the cozy days of winter, but admit that I look forward to spring with giddy anticipation.